


Talking Over Gavin

by alekszova



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, connor is a Fool, gavin swears a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-09-18 07:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16990545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova
Summary: Gavin talks too much and Connor needs to shut him up.





	1. Chapter 1

[ ONE ]

He doesn’t get it.

Why Gavin talks so much. So loudly. So incessantly. He can never seem to stop himself from relentlessly spilling words, punctuated with every expletive he can manage. It is… _annoying._ Connor is sure if he wasn’t already a deviant, this would be the final step. This would be what makes him cross over the line.

“You don’t say…” Tina says, trailing off and looking away from Gavin to meet Connor’s eyes as he passes by their desk. She looks as bored with Gavin’s chosen topic today as Connor does. And, if his experience has told him anything, if _Tina_ is annoyed by Gavin, everyone else in the room has already surpassed irritation and ended up in anger. Someone is going to “ask” him to shut up soon.

“His place was fucking trashed,” Gavin says. “There was literally garbage fucking everywhere. I don’t understand how people can live like that. You can’t clean up one thing? And then you go out and try to get some guy over to your place so you can fuck in what is essentially a dumpster? Fucking ridiculous—”

“Your place isn’t spotless, Gavin.” Tina replies with a glance back towards him.

“No, but you don’t understand what a shitty place he had.”

“Detective Reed?” Connor says, coming to a pause. He feels like his insides are grating on each other and self destructing and he is moments away from slapping Gavin with the file he has in his hands. “Can you please—”

“He was fucking hot, though,” he continues with a shrug. “You know? Kinda made me forget the whole thing.”

“Detective Reed—”

“I might see him again. You think I can come up with a good pick up line? Oh, wait—” Gavin pauses, for a single second to pull his phone from his pocket. “I have his picture. You wanna see? He’s—”

“Detective Reed,” Connor insists again, hitting Gavin hard in the shoulder with his folder. “I—”

“Oh,” Tina says quietly. “He is cute.”

“Told you. Enough I can deal with some trash for some weekend—”

Connor sighs and slams the folder down on the table, reaching over to press his hand over Gavin’s mouth. He stops, looking up to meet Connor’s eyes.

“If you must insist on talking so much, could you at least lower your voice? There are other people trying to get work done here. I know you prefer to wait until last minute to fill out your reports, but the rest of us would like to work without having to hear about the last boy you met up with.” He feels Gavin’s lips twitch against his palm and he pulls his hand away quickly, retrieving his file. “Just be quieter, if you think you have to talk.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” Gavin says with a smile. It annoys him even more than he already was. _That stupid smile._

“Technically, I _can,”_ he replies. “We are capable of doing whatever we like.”

“Fine. _Don’t_ fucking tell me what to do.”

He sighs, and the action makes Gavin’s smile disappear as he looks back to Tina. Connor doesn’t bother lingering. He turns and walks away as Gavin starts talking again, complaining about Connor this time instead of some messy apartment.

“Always fucking technical with this shit,” he says. “Scientifically this, theoretically that. Fucking whatever.”

“Gavin…” he hears Tina say, like a warning. _He can hear you._

But Connor can always hear them. Even when they are talking quietly. His auditory processors pick up on small noises. Gavin needn’t talk loudly if his plan is to annoy just Connor. He just has to talk. Period. End of.

 

Connor _sighs_ and the action only reminds Gavin how not-human Connor is. A piece of plastic dressed up in a nice suit with some emotions and human mannerisms doesn’t equate to a human at all. But he acts it. He has emotions.

_Fucking androids._

“Always fucking technical with this shit,” he says. “Scientifically this, theoretically that. Fucking whatever.”

Grammatically correct bullshit.

“Gavin…” Tina says, and she says it almost like a warning but it’s different than that. A little bit of sadness hints at her voice. _He can hear you._

Isn’t that the point?

So Connor never realizes how fucking stupidly and selfishly Gavin is in love with him? If he hears the tales of strangers in his bed and thinks Gavin couldn’t want anything more than all androids’ destruction, then eventually he’ll return his hatred back to him and Gavin will stop looking at his stupid fucking face.

Tina is the only one that knows, and he still regrets that. Too much alcohol on too late of a night.

_Hey, Tina, you know who I’m in love with? Fucking android boy._

As much as he wants to hate Connor, he can’t.

He keeps thinking about how his hand felt against his lips, keeping him quiet, shushing him up. It’s the most contact they’ve had since their fight in the Archive Room.

_Fuck._

What he wouldn’t give to hold his hand and replace the memory of fists against his body with something soft and reassuring.

He needs a change of subject, and he can feel his voice grower quieter and smaller to try and reduce the sound of it breaking as he starts a new story with Tina. _There was a guy with a giant fucking snake in his living room. His pet. His name was Raphael—no, not the guy, the snake. The snake’s name was Raphael._

 

[ TWO ]

He doesn’t like cars. He doesn’t like guns. He doesn’t like heights.

They absolutely terrify him.

But they are things he can’t avoid.

He has to get into the car with Gavin for the case. He has to listen to him ramble on and on about how he hates driving in the rain. It’s awful. Terrible. He loves his motorcycle but he can never use it for work, so it sits gathering dust while he has to drive in a “fucking car.”

How awful it must be for Gavin to drive in a car because of some _rain_ , when all Connor wants is to get out of here and get far, far away from it. All he can think about when he’s here is how the rumble of the engine and the feeling of the wheels beneath his feet remind him of how painful it was when he was hit and crushed and run over dozens of times.

“... you know? Well, you probably don’t know. Or maybe you do. You’re a fucking android so you must know everything, right? But you’ve never been on a motorcycle, have you? So you probably wouldn’t really get—”

“In GCCF, the Burmilla is considered part of the Asian cat breed. It is accepted in FIFe as the Burmilla. Only the Silver Shaded and Tipped varieties have been recognized in FIFe, CCCA, ACF and CFA as the Burmilla,” he says, letting the words roll off his tongue as quickly as he can. “As of late 2011, the Golden Shaded and Tipped Burmilla is also recognized within FIFe—”

“Connor?”

“One governing body in Australia has used the name Australian Tiffanie; however—”

“Connor, what the fuck are you on about?”

“—there is not international acceptance and standardization for this breed—the name ‘Tiffany’ has been used to describe many different breeds, having the appearance from the Ragdoll to the Birman and may contain—”

“Hey, shut the fuck up—”

“—any of these breeds and more. Many Australian Tiffanies in Australia contain more than three-quarters Chinchilla Persian and retain the appearance and temperament of the Old-Fashioned Chinchilla Persian. The name's use is declining in favor, due to the lax standards for the breed name, the lack of unique identity and the varied genetic makeup.”

He waits a beat. Gavin doesn’t say anything. He’s fallen completely silent, his eyes stuck on the road but darting back and forth from it to look at Connor with a curious and skeptical expression.

“I just wanted you to be quiet,” Connor whispers, shrinking back against the seat as if he could manage to disappear into it anymore than he’s already tried. “I just… want quiet.”

“Okay,” Gavin says back. “Fine.”

He doesn’t like cars.

He doesn’t like guns.

He doesn’t like heights.

But right now, his only concern is the car and the rain and the traffic and how _similar_ it is to that day a few years prior. Connor tries to close his eyes, to pretend he is somewhere else, but he is an android and his imagination does little.

 

Gavin tries to keep his eyes on the road, but it’s difficult. Connor looks strange. Gavin’s never seen an expression like that on his face. He’s never seen him act like this at all. He is usually composed. Calm. _Robotic._

Out of all the androids that Gavin has encountered after the revolution, Connor has always been the one to seem much more mechanical than the rest. His personality didn’t do a complete flip. He stayed mostly the same. Rigid movements. Attention to detail on the job. Sometimes, he doesn’t even entirely seem like he’s a deviant at all.

Except for now.

With the rainy weather, with the car ride.

Gavin starts to speak. A distraction, maybe. Pull Connor’s mind from whatever it is stuck on and focus on something else. And, maybe, Gavin is bragging a little bit. About his super expensive motorcycle. He tries to say as much as he can, what he loves about riding it, what he hates about cars in comparison.

There is nothing better than feeling the thrill of a motorcycle going fast on a highway.

Sometimes, like he could break through and fly away on delicate wings.

And then—

Connor _interrupts_ him. Words tumbling from his lips, facts spilled out. Gavin doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s on about because he’s speaking so fast he can barely catch any of the words. _What the fuck is GCCF and FIFE and all these other fucking letters? Who the fuck is Tiffany?_

He tries, he fails, he falls quiet.

“I just wanted you to be quiet,” Connor whispers, and Gavin looks over at him, sinking backwards further and further, falling into the cushion of the seat with his eyes slipping closed. “I just… want quiet.”

“Okay,” he replies, as quietly and gently as he can manage. “Fine.”

But he worries, stupidly, about this _android._ He doesn’t know what has caused this.

They have driven places together before. A handful of times. Mostly, they meet up at the crime scenes if they are paired together. He has never quite acted like this before.

“Are you… are you alright?”

Connor’s eyes open, for the briefest of seconds, looking over to Gavin. He catches the glance only because he’s at a red light and looking directly at him. Otherwise, he would have thought he imagined it, it happens so quickly.

“Why—” a sigh. “You don’t have to bother pretending, Gavin.”

“Pretending?”

“You don’t care.”

_Hm._

He would think an android that is as observant as Connor is that he would know, that he would _see._ The tiny looks. The carefully crafted façade that always, always breaks.

He cares _too_ much.

Too much to let himself ask the question again. Too much to correct Connor. It would break him to hear Connor reject it all. Throw it in the trash as easy as it takes to say, _no, I don’t like you, I could never like you, I will hate you forever._

Because it is what Gavin deserves.

They don’t fit together.

He hates androids (doesn’t he?) and he is a mess.

So, he refuses. He protects his heart with iron bars and sharp claws. He doesn’t say a single word because then, maybe, he can allow himself a few more weeks or months or years pretending that Connor could ever be capable of even just liking him the tiniest amount.

 

[ THREE ]

Connor loves this time of year. When the snow falls down gently like little feathers floating their way down to earth. It gets dark too early, but it never bothers him. He finds he is often more comforted by night-time than day-time. So many terrible things happened to him during the day. Night is comforting. Black darkness to curl up into, pretend he doesn’t exist for a while.

“Hey, tin-can—”

“Detective Reed,” he says, turning from his usual walk to the bus station towards the alley where Gavin stands outside of. “What are you doing out here?”

He holds up his hand, showing the cigarette half smoked between his finger tips, “Need to relax.”

“Relax?”

“There’s a fuck ton of paperwork to do,” he says. “You know, not all of us are androids that can do it in a millisecond, yeah? We humans are fucked in comparison to you. You’re going to wipe us all out and the only thing that’s gonna be left is a bunch of sentient pieces of plastic—”

 “Bad breath,” Connor says, taking a step closer to him. He really doesn’t want to hear this. More and more of why people hate androids. Why _Gavin_ hates androids. “Yellow teeth. Tooth decay. Shortness of breath, coughing, loss of sense of smell and taste.”

“What are you on about this time?”

“Side effects of smoking.”

“Yeah, you gonna convince me to quit or something? Good fucking luck—”

“Feeling faint, confusion, seizures, headaches.”

“Going a little out of order here if you’re trying to scare me. Should put the frightening ones last—”

“Respiratory arrest. Increased blood pressure and heart rate but decreased blood flow to fingers and toes.”

“Con—”

“Chronic bronchitis and emphysema, and it can contribute to osteoporosis.”

“I’ve got no idea what the fuck those are—”

“Gray appearances. Early wrinkles. Increased risk of stroke and brain damage.”

“Hm. Maybe you’re onto something.”

“Cancer of the nose, lip, tongue, mouth, stomach, bladder—”

“Hey, listen, I got it, but I’m not gonna quit—”

“Impotence,” Connor says, with a tilt of his head.

Gavin presses his lips together, glances from Connor to the cigarette in his hand. He lets out an annoyed breath, dropping it to the ground and stomping it out. He doesn’t say anything, but he gives him an annoyed shrug and walks away.

Maybe he’ll quit. Maybe he’ll learn to take care of himself.

A life of cigarettes and motorcycles and random men in bars is all fun and games until it takes its toll on the human body.

And Connor finds he really doesn’t want that to happen at all.

 

He doesn’t understand that fucking android at all.

One second he is going on and on about some girl named Tiffany and then telling Gavin to fuck off with his “pretend” caring about him and the next second he’s trying to convince him to stop smoking. He should decide whether or not he cares about Gavin’s wellbeing.

But fucking _hell._

 _Impotence._ Why’d he have to say it like that? Why’d he have to tilt his head, bite his lip, bat his stupid eyelashes?

 _Alright._ Maybe he didn’t do all that.

But he fucking might as well.

Only _Connor_ could say _impotence_ in a way that makes him want to run away and scream.

Piece of shit android.

Has no idea the effect he has on people, does he?

 

[ FOUR ]

He doesn’t even know what Gavin is talking about this time. Connor has given up. There is a way Gavin starts off his sentences that Connor _knows_ is going to spiral into a long-winded rant about whatever his chosen topic is.

But this time Connor doesn’t even bother trying to pay attention to understand what he’s saying.

He sorts through the topics in his head, picks at random something he can search and start repeating back to Gavin. Wikipedia articles or medical lists that would annoy him to the point of silence. He’s done this dozens of times now, he’s always prepared for it.

“So—”

“In the 1860s Pierre Michaux, a blacksmith in Paris, founded 'Michaux et Cie', which translates to ‘Michaux and company’, the first company to—”

“Fucking not this again.”

“—construct bicycles with pedals called a velocipede at the time, or ‘Michauline’. The first steam powered motorcycle, the Michaux-Perreaux steam velocipede—”

“Jesus fucking hell.”

“—can be traced to 1867, when Pierre's son Ernest Michaux fitted a small steam engine to one of the 'velocipedes'.”

Silence.

Quicker this time than usual. Less bickering. Connor doesn’t need to continue rambling onto the next paragraph, Gavin has already stopped talking but—

He is looking at Connor with a strange expression. The least guarded he has ever seen. His head resting slightly to the side, the corner of his lips quirked upwards in a half smile.

_Oh._

Oh.

Oh, _no._

The anger and irritation from listening to hours upon hours of sex tales from Gavin—

The protective feeling of seeing someone destroy themselves on cigarette at a time—

 _His choices in topics._ Cats and coffee and leather jackets and motorcycles—

It all makes sense.

_Shit._

“I-I—I” he can’t find words, he can only stumble over them again and again. _Say something, you absolute idiot._ “The design went to America when Pierre Lallement, a Michaux employee who also claimed to have developed the prototype in 1863, filed for the first bicycle patent with the US patent office in 1866.”

“Yeah?”

“In 1881, Lucius Copeland of Phoenix, Arizona designed a much smaller steam boiler which could drive the large rear wheel of an American Star high-wheeler at 12 mph. In 1887 Copeland formed the Northrop Manufacturing Co. to produce the first successful 'Moto-Cycle', which was actually a three-wheeler,” he says. He’s jumping around. He’s not staying in place. He can’t speak properly anymore.

_He has a crush on Gavin Reed._

“A-And—I—there—there were over 80 different makes of motorcycle available in Britain in the 1930s, from the familiar marques like Norton, Triumph and—”

“Connor?”

“Honda, which was officially founded in Japan on September 24, 1948, introduced their SOHC inline-four engine CB750 in 1969, which was inexpensive and immediately successful—”

He hears Gavin sigh, but he keeps rambling. As many facts as he can find to ground himself. He can leap from sentence to sentence, paragraph to paragraph, Gavin isn’t paying attention anyways.

Connor tears his attention to his face, sure if androids could blush his face would be burning. He can almost feel the sensation of heat against his skin, which is ridiculous because androids don’t blush and—

 

He is tired.

And Connor is flustered.

And he has little self control.

And he has never seen Connor look quite as cute as he does now.

 

_Gavin is kissing him._

Gavin is kissing him.

Gavin Reed, detective, android hater, is kissing Connor.

 

His lips are softer than Gavin expected. He does not quite feel like a human. There is a rigidness to his body that isn’t quite the same. He is a little soft, a little pliable. Like a layer of jelly over thick plastic.

Still—

He could be like a statue and Gavin would like kissing him.

He can feel something between them. Growing brighter and brighter until Gavin has to pull away because he can’t even tell if Connor is kissing him back and the fear of rejection settles its way back inside of his stomach.

He just wanted him to be quiet. Is that how Connor felt all those times? Needing Gavin to just be quiet? Spouting off facts to counteract stupid things he was saying?

 

“S-sorry,” Gavin says, pulling back, looking from Connor’s face towards the empty street.

He wants to reach up and grab him but something about his body isn’t working quite right and he can’t form the words or reach over to him because he is _stunned_ and all he can think is _Gavin Gavin Gavin—_

“You alright?”

“You kissed me.”

“Yes.”

“W-why?”

“You wouldn’t stop talking.”

He laughs and it comes out a little bit broken, “Is that it?”

“Is that it?” Gavin repeats, looking back to him. His face is as red as Connor’s would be if he were human. _Strange._ “You’re so—”

“What?”

“Fucking stupid.”

“E-excuse me?” Connor says. “I’m an RK800, I might be a prototype but I’m the most advanced android that CyberLife has ever created. I’m far more intelligent than any other model they’ve ever made and I’m certain I’m smarter than _you—_ ”

Gavin steps over to him, his hand raised like ~~he’s going to kiss~~ like he’s going to touch Connor but his hand falls to his side instead.

“Listen, I don’t know if you know this but—” he pauses and it seems like Gavin is tearing his eyes away from Connor’s face like if they looked one second longer he might die. “You’re…”

“I’m what?”

He reaches up and pushes Connor’s shoulder. A gentle shove. Nothing real. There is a smile on his lips and his other hand comes up to cover it, like it can wipe it away.

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say _what?”_

Gavin sighs, and he moves quickly. Grabbing Connor and tugging him back down again, kissing him hard and messy and hungrily.

He doesn’t understand, and that is keeping him from liking this as much as he wants to.

 

_Fucking androids._

Supposed to be intelligent. Supposed to be the smartest fucking thing on the planet.

Can’t even understand this.

Connor really is an oblivious idiot, isn’t he?

Or just a stupid tease?

He breaks away from Connor, but not as much as before. He speaks with his forehead leaned against Connor’s, with his hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down and his feet nearly on tiptoes, stretched up to get as close as he can manage, as close as he will ever probably be.

He has made it this far.

He can say the words.

He can risk it all.

“I like you.”

“I don’t—”

“Fucking hell, Connor, how much do I have to kiss you for you to understand?”

“It’s not that,” he whispers, and he pulls from Gavin’s grip. “It’s not—”

“What?”

“You’re supposed to hate androids.”

Gavin exhales as Connor pulls from his arms. He was so warm, too. This fucking frigid night made a little bit nicer by his body so close to Gavin’s. It took the chill away, and now it is falling back into place, just like he knew it would.

_You’re supposed to hate androids._

He is.

But he doesn’t.

And certainly not _Connor,_ who is likely the most android of them all. There isn’t a second that goes by that Gavin isn’t entirely aware of what Connor is.

It just doesn’t matter.

He reaches a hand up and rests his fingers lightly against Connor’s LED. A yellow circle, shifting to blue at his touch before quickly back to yellow again. Bright as can be. Isn’t yellow supposed to be the color of happiness? Why is it always so tied to their thoughts? So intrinsically a part of their overthinking? There is nothing joyous about constant thought. Endless cycle of words going over and over again and never ever stopping.

“I don’t hate androids,” he says, each word quiet and slow and careful, making sure Connor understands them. “And definitely not you.”

 

Gavin kisses him again. It is softer and sweeter this time and the hand at his LED moves to his neck again and the touch is light against his skin. _Soft. Gentle._ Nothing that Connor ever thought the two of them would be.

And _they_ are not something that _will_ be.

He pulls away another time. Have they really kissed three times already? His chest hurts and he is thinking too much, but he can’t allow this to last.

Maybe Gavin likes him. Maybe he thinks that’s true.

But Gavin has spent the last six months loudly telling stories about every man he’s every slept with, and Connor has information on him that he wishes he didn’t.

“Your relationships don’t last,” he whispers. “I can’t—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He takes a step backwards, hitting the brick wall of the building behind him, “Your boyfriends. They’ve only ever last for a few months at a time and you get a new one quickly afterwards and you haven’t had one for five years—”

“Connor—”

“You aren’t the boyfriend type.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” He laughs a little, but out of nervousness. Something he can’t clamp down and contain. “How do you know that, Connor?”

“CyberLife gave me access to all the information they could find on you. That included your social media.”

“Fucking hell. Can’t have any secrets around here, can I?”

“No, I suppose not.”

Gavin sighs again, and Connor hates the way it sounds. Frustrated. Annoyed. Lost. _Defeated._

“Look,” he says, taking a step closer to Connor but stopping where he is. Like maybe he might not be able to control himself if he comes any closer. “They all broke up with me and I gave up on boyfriends because I was never good enough, alright? And I probably still wouldn’t be but—”

“But what?”

“I’d like to date you.”

“You’d—” he laughs again. “You want to date me?”

“Fucking absolutely, you really think I’ve kissed you this many times because I think of you as a brother?”

“No, but—”

He is silenced by Gavin reaching out, taking his hand and holding it gently in his own.

“I want this. I want you.”

Connor feels tears spring to his eyes and he never thought he’d cry because of Gavin saying something like that before.

But he has gone the last two years unknowingly falling into the trap of _liking_ and possibly _loving_ Gavin Reed and known the entire time that all Gavin Reed wanted was androids destroyed and vanish off the face of the earth.

_I don’t hate androids. And definitely not you._

Does he know how much it means? Does he know how much it makes his head swim with happiness? Does he know that the tears in his eyes are from joy and not from sadness?

“Okay,” Connor whispers. “Ask me.”

“Ask you?”

“Yes.”

It is Gavin’s turn to laugh, but it is not humorless or cracked or falling apart with anxiety like Connor’s was. It is real and genuine and it makes Connor smile more than he ever has.

“Alright. Will you be my boyfriend, then?”

“Yes.”

 

[ FIVE ]

He likes spending the night with Gavin. His place is clean but not spotless, and it gives Connor something to do when his hands are in need of something to be occupied with or Gavin is sleeping and he can’t bear to spend eight hours laying next to him and being unproductive. He likes cooking and he likes making the bed and he likes seeing Gavin sprawled across the couch with the cat they adopted six months ago.

“Hey, Con? I need your help.”

Connor walks out of the kitchen, towards the living room and reaching for the empty coffee mug on the table. There is a tiny bit left, but the mug has grown cold and he knows Gavin won’t drink it.

“Wait—” he says. “Leave it. I need you to get something from the bedroom for me.”

“And you can’t do it yourself?” Connor asks.

Gavin lets out a scoff and motions towards the ball of light brown fur stretched out across his torso, “No. Unless you want to wake her.”

“No, never. What do you need?”

“There’s a box on the dresser.”

Connor nods and leaves, setting the mug of coffee on the counter in the kitchen before turning to the bedroom. He finds the box on the dresser. Small and black and velvet. He turns it over in his fingers, half tempted to open it, the curiosity of what’s inside eating at him little by little as he carries it back to the living room and holds it out towards Gavin.

Connor is returned with a loud annoyed sigh.

“Christ. Still oblivious after all this time?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You never do,” he says, taking the box from his hand. He opens it slowly, turns it around to hold back out towards Gavin.

_Oh._

Oh.

_OH._

“Will you, Connor, you absolute and complete fool, m—”

“Yes,” he says, blurting the word out quickly, a laugh bubbling up in his chest.

“You didn’t let me finish. You never let me finish. Always interrupting. never—”

“Okay, okay,” Connor says, cutting him off. _Again._ “Ask your question.”

“Alright,” he says, and he pauses, letting it draw out longer and longer until Connor is opening his mouth to say something when he finally speaks. “Will you move in with me?”

Connor waits, reaching out tentatively towards the key with a smile, “Yes. Can I have it?”

“Fucking of course. I thought you were supposed to the most advanced prototype?”

He laughs again and takes the key, turning it over in his fingers and admiring the way it looks in the light. Bronze and small. There’s one hidden under the mat outside Gavin’s door that he usually uses when he comes over.

And when he can’t contain himself anymore, he is leaning over and kissing Gavin as best as he can while trying not to crush the sleeping cat.

_Ridiculous._

The both of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote a continuation of this fic over on [my tumblr](https://norchloe.tumblr.com/post/183731075457/write-prompt-55-pretty-please) for a prompt request >:3

Gavin never really learned how to shut up—for a myriad of reasons, none of which he likes to discuss. Talking is not something he does when he’s nervous and it never has been. When he gets anxiety, his mouth closes, his tongue stops working, his brain can supply him with things to say, but they are never voiced. He never related to characters in movies or shows that started rambling when they were nervous. He always froze when that happened to him. He hated it when people would act like he was the same—he was _never_ the same. The only people that seemed to understand that were Tina and Connor. People that were close enough to him to know that when he’s quiet, something is wrong.

If he’s angry, he lashes out. He’s better at it now than before. Even uses less jokes that hurts other people’s feelings. Tina once told him she was proud, and he couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not and he wanted to push her away and tell her to fuck off but Connor was there too, smiling like he agreed.

They’re both such idiots sometimes. One little thing he does to make himself a decent human being and they act like he deserves a trophy. Ridiculous. And undeserved.

But the smile on Connor’s face made him feel—

Happier. Better. And he hates that, too. He hates a lot of things for reasons he can’t explain, for reasons he’d rather not think about.

He doesn’t hate that Connor is always there to listen to him, though. Humming and nodding and pressing a kiss against his forehead. Rarely saying aloud that he was listening, usually reassured again and again through actions. Sometimes he thinks it’s just routine, that Connor has never really paid attention to something he’s said and then at some point he’ll respond and it will feel like a shock to his system. A few days later and an offhand comment made referencing something he said that he was sure passed by as background noise to Connor.

Tina is just as talkative as he is. Their voices overlap, shouting over each other and interrupting to get their point across. Laughing and talking about so many things within a few hours it’s amazing how the conversation led from what point to another, neither of them ever remembering what originally sparked five hours of talking that felt like thirty minutes.

But with Connor it’s different. He can ramble on and on and Connor will always be listening, making small comments. He’s quiet. Opposite of Gavin. He only talks when he has something to say, something he feels important enough to hear. It’s unfortunate—Gavin loves his voice. He likes the way his name sounds with it, the way words form on his lips. They feel like forbidden fruit sometimes.

They are opposite in more than just that. Connor _is_ the rambling-nervous type. The one to go on tangents about random topics in the hopes to fill the silence. The first time Gavin kissed him was to shut him up. He thought it was cute, which seemed unfair. Connor is already cute, and he has these mannerisms that feel like a crushing weight on top of it. Their relationship was awkward and tentative for the first few weeks, but they fell into it. Easy, like it was second nature.

Connor has spent so many nights over at his place, he hasn’t had time to lay awake and wonder if they can work or not. If Connor will regret this. If Gavin was like a thief, stealing that kiss, stealing all the other ones, stealing Connor piece by piece.

It’s nice not to think about it. Not to second guess. Not to worry that he isn’t good enough. He still feels it sometimes. Like Connor would be better off with someone else. He might be. Everyone is when it comes to Gavin Reed. So many better options out there. But with Connor those moments are rare. When they’re together, when they’re apart, all he feels is happy. He hasn’t been this happy in a long, long time. He doesn’t know if he ever has been, for this long. He thinks of Connor and he smiles and he struggles to wipe it off his face so he doesn’t look like a freak in the supermarket with a dumbass smile thinking about an android. _His boyfriend. His. His. His._ God. He’s hopeless.

When they’re together, sometimes it takes all the willpower he has not to smother him sometimes. He loves him so much it’s hard to handle. His body wasn’t built for it. He was built for cruelty and violence. To protect himself from any type of vulnerability.

But when the door opens and Connor comes to visit, he can feel himself smiling, can feel himself standing up and racing towards him, pressing a kiss against his jaw, asking about his day, pulling him closer and closer, letting the words tumble from his lips. Everything that Connor missed while he was away.

“The neighbor’s dog would not stop barking and Latte is like, obsessed with your jacket you left here—she will _not_ stop sleeping on it and there was this really weird movie I watched and it was all about this guy—”

“Gavin,” Connor says, and it comes out with a little bit of a sigh. “No offense, but I just…”

“What?”

“I want you to shut up and kiss me, okay?”

“Oh—”

He’s silenced in an instant. Connor leaning forward, closing the gap, kissing him. It feels weird. Something feels strange about the way Connor is holding him, the way he’s kissing him. Something is different. Something is—

_Wrong_.

“Connor,” he whispers, pulling away. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t _seem_ fine.”

“I just—” he sighs. “I just realized something today and it’s…”

He waits. Waits for Connor to keep speaking, waits for more words to come, waits for an explanation with the way Connor is acting.

“Connor?”

“I love you,” he says, and he smiles, weakly. “I really don’t want to lose you.”

He doesn’t know what to dissect first. The _I love you_ after two months of the pair dancing around the topic, of Gavin letting Connor take this as slowly as he wants, never pushing, always waiting. But the _I don’t want to lose you—_

“You’re not going to lose me,” Gavin says. “The fuck do you think is gonna happen?”

“I—”

“I love you,” he adds on, cutting him off, feeling a little guilty for it. He leans up, leaving a soft kiss against his temple. “You’re not going to get rid of me. No matter how hard you try.”

“Are you sure?”

He hopes Connor knows he means it. How much he means it. How much Connor means to him. Sometimes _I love you_ doesn’t seem to encompass that properly. He means it so much more than that. More than words would be able to describe. Connor is never going to get rid of him. He’s going to stay here, with him, forever. Connor will never be able to shake him. He’s persistent and stubborn and annoying and Connor will _never lose him._

“Absolutely positive.”

“Okay. Could you—”

“Shut up and kiss you again? Yes.”

And he does. This time, he feels Connor smiling against his lips and he smiles back, tries as best as he can to kiss him properly but when it comes to Connor, it is always so difficult not to feel overwhelmed with joy and adoration.

**Author's Note:**

> i blame [same-side](https://same-side.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [hmu on my tumblr](https://norchloe.tumblr.com/) | music;  
> yellow light - of monsters and men


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